


Knuckling Down, so to speak

by this_isnt_my_darkest_fuckin_secret



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Affection, M/M, Massage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, i dont even particularly ship makoto and ishimaru, i dont know, i just figured it worked for this one, ishimondo will happen eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_isnt_my_darkest_fuckin_secret/pseuds/this_isnt_my_darkest_fuckin_secret
Summary: He's far from Ultimate, but it turns out Makoto is fairly talented at massage. What started as a not-very-well-thought-out excuse to touch girls finally proves useful, as Casanova over here manages to use it as an excuse to touch one Mr Straightlaced Pretty Face Hall Monitor instead! I don't even rly ship them and it won't get very sexual, Idk im  currently quite drunkedit i lied it got a lil spicy
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka & Naegi Makoto
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

“Uh...I’ll be honest, I really didn’t expect that from you.”

Makoto felt his face heat up with embarrassment. He leaned back in his chair and fiddled with a string of his hoodie, trying to act natural.

“Well, I just... I don’t know, it really only started out of curiosity, it had seemed like something I could learn without needing much prior skill...” 

Ishimaru lit up again with his familiar enthusiasm. 

“No, no, Makoto! I think it’s fantastic that you chose to dedicate yourself like that! It’s just that, well... the art of massage isn’t really something I would’ve ever thought to learn myself.”

Makoto held in a giggle as he briefly considered telling Ishimaru the actual reason he had thought to learn how to massage. The idea of getting to touch a girl someday, and having confidence in how to use his hands. 

He quickly suppressed the thought. 

“Yeah, well. I don’t think I would call myself Super High School Level yet, but it’d be nice to have a...”

He was about to say ‘talent’, but caught himself before he set Ishimaru off.

“...an area of expertise, like the rest of our class.”

Makoto congratulated himself silently on his smoothness, as the glaringly unwholesome nature of his ‘hobby’ somehow flew straight over Ishimaru’s head. He began to rattle off about how he’d be happy to help Makoto out if he ever needed extra tutoring, and the importance of friendship built on ‘shared dedication to higher goals’... Honestly, this guy was almost impressive in his ignorance. 

Makoto found himself smiling; Ishimaru was definitely a weirdo, but there was something so charming about the way he hadn’t even considered Makoto would have had ulterior motives. 

He picked at his dinner and thought to himself that he may as well hang out with him sometime, even if it would definitely have to involve studying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tricking a teacher into going off on a tangent used to be my favourite thing in the world, until i discovered drugs

*knock* *knock*

“Hey, man! It’s me...” 

Makoto felt kinda dumb saying ‘Makoto’, as if Ishimaru hadn’t invited him over. He checked his e-Handbook quickly for the time; he couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but since he’d begun to talk more with Ishimaru he’d felt the growing urge to do things that would make him happy.   
He looked up as Ishimaru opened the door with a beaming smile.

“Makoto! You know, you’re exactly on time! Please, come in.”

Makoto stepped into Ishimaru’s room, which was identical and yet starkly different to his own. Work notes, sheets and sheets of it, and study aids for a dizzying array of subjects were plastered all around the place. Everything was, of course, impeccably neat. Makoto kicked off his shoes as he settled in out of politeness for the spotless carpet, and they ended up sat at his desk, Ishimaru talking cheerfully about a fascinating new so and so he was learning at the moment that he would just love to explain more. 

It didn’t take Makoto very long to suss out that, while Ishimaru had a startlingly good concentration for studying while on his own, it was pretty easy to trick him into going off on a long-winded tangent by asking a few well-placed questions. It was hard not to notice his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm when he got the chance to actually talk to someone about something he was interested in. Makoto had already put together that Ishimaru had never had an actual friendship before, but it still felt so strange that he… he liked the idea of being his first real friend. 

“… and the thing is, the ratio decidendi – uh, ratio decidendi means ‘the reason for the decision’ you see, the judge has to state why the evidence was considered as it was because, well you understand - the ratio decidendi was that the public can’t bring civil action against the police for negligence because that would mean ‘too many police workers being charged’, but you see the problem with that is that it leads to repugnant decisions like in Osman’s, because I mean, in Osman’s…”

Ishimaru paused for breath, shifting a little in his chair, and Makoto saw another chance to jump in with something he knew wouldn’t reveal how much he was struggling to pay attention.

“Because in Osman’s case, it was… uh, grossly negligent, right?”

“Precisely! Yes! Makoto, you get it. And I mean, if you can’t have faith that your police force is responsible for their actions, how can you say the power dynamic between them and the citizens is fairly balanced?”

Makoto was doing his best to grasp at what Ishimaru was saying – he knew next to nothing about law, let alone European law, but Ishimaru had a way of talking about things that always made them sound very important.

Ishimaru seemed to catch himself rambling, and he turned back to his work looking mildly embarrassed. He ran his hand quickly through his short, spiky black hair, rubbed the back of his neck and focused back on his work again. The room was quiet for a while – almost silent, but for the scratching of Ishimaru’s pencil, yet it was comfortable.

Makoto looked down at his own work – a scribbled paper of half-finished equations, considerably outnumbered by the army of doodles in the margin. Makoto smiled to himself at the way Ishimaru would’ve cringed at the utter chaos on the page. He hated math, anyway.

He was distracted as Ishimaru shifted in his chair again. This time, he twisted to one side and rolled his shoulders, and Makoto heard him groan almost inaudibly. ‘Ishimaru told me he does this pretty much all day, every day,’ he thought. ‘That just can’t be kind on the neck.’ 

He leaned back in his chair as the inevitable thought occurred. He hadn’t actually practiced massage to somebody else for so long – he practiced on himself all the time whenever he’d slept wrong or whatever… doing neck rubs were super easy...

But it’d be really weird to do it to Ishimaru. Wouldn’t it?

… ‘alright, fuck it.’

“Ishimaru?”

“Hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont question why Taka is studying English law. I'm using my art to teach people about the injustice of the Osman v UK case, ok? look that case up if u wanna ruin yuh whole day :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry bout updates, im failing my law course lmao. my pacing is Just Utterly Fucked in this, too. whatever, enjoy

“I uh. I was just gonna ask if your neck is ok,” 

Makoto made an effort to sound nonchalant, tapping his pencil absentmindedly against the desk. Ishimaru met his eyes briefly as he shifted yet again, clearly uncomfortable.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing. It’s just a little crick, I must’ve slept wrong is all. Nothing to worry about!” He gave a quiet laugh, but Makoto pressed on.

“Oh yeah no, I just meant that... well, if its bothering you, I could...”

Makoto saw it click in Ishimaru’s head as he remembered Makoto’s ‘hobby’; his eyebrows pricked up slightly in interest. Makoto still felt incredibly awkward about the idea of giving him a neck rub, but he steeled himself with the thought that this was Ishimaru – the guy who had literally dragged him to the baths to strip completely naked before, out of nowhere! There was no way this could be any different. 

“I forgot all about that! Oh, you must’ve wanted someone you could practice on, right? Since we’ve been here... my neck has been bothering me a little, so this is good for us both,” he said, smiling in that cheerful way that reassured Makoto that he saw nothing weird about it. 

With newfound composure, Makoto moved to stand behind Ishimaru, who had turned back to face his work again, head tilted slightly down, the nape of his neck barely visible under the high collar of the immaculate white uniform.   
He placed his hands on his shoulders, a little sheepish, but with a sense of familiarity; at least he knew what he was doing. Through the fabric, he felt for his bearings around the nape of his neck and began with gentle pushing rubs with his thumbs. Ishimaru had picked up his pencil again, although writing more slowly so as not to move too much.

Makoto fell easily into the process of massage. Slow, firm rubbing motions, moving from the shoulders to the neck, and gradually back down – he found himself not thinking about whether this was weird anymore. He circled with his fingers, pressing and teasing at the tensions, even though the fabric of the blazer was annoyingly thick. He found it oddly pleasant, hypnotic even, to practice on someone else after all this time.

Soon, however, he began to notice that Ishimaru had started becoming more tense again. Makoto had been too focused in the rhythmic process of his hands to notice, until he glided up to his neck once more, and suddenly felt the muscle twitch under his fingers.

“Ishimaru?” 

Ishimaru turned with a chipper ‘Hm?’ that seemed a little forced - his cheeks were pink.

“Uh, the... the uniform is just a bit difficult to work through,” Makoto said, trying not to think about it, “do you...”

He realised what he was about to say and trailed off, embarrassed, but Ishimaru seemed to spring at it, noticeably less casual in his tone than before.

“Oh, right, yes of course, my apology...” he rambled, moving to stand. Makoto fiddled his hands, unsure of whether to turn away, as Ishimaru began to work at the clasp of his collar.

It turned out that underneath the jacket, he wore a plain, starched button shirt, and under that, a sleeveless white undershirt. Makoto watched him lay them both on his militantly well-made bed, and couldn’t help but stare at his companion’s lightly freckled skin as he sat back down, having fallen silent again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "someday, we'll get to the good bit," i mutter to myself in my rocking chair, at the ripe old age of 112. "someday we'll finish this fucking thing...."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> both characters are portrayed as 18

Without the stiff layers (and freaking epaulets) in the way, it was definitely easier for Makoto to work his hands – he was now thoroughly pre-occupied with the calming, repetitive motions, which was very lucky, as otherwise he may just have lost his nerve to continue from the heightened intimacy of rubbing directly into his skin.

Ishimaru, on the other hand, had become increasingly aware of said intimacy. His face burned as he tried not to shiver – the feeling of Makoto’s hands, exploring all over his shoulders, spreading the warmth of his contact... He knew Makoto was a fairly learned masseur, but when he’d volunteered for a neck rub he hadn’t considered that Makoto would work him apart like this. He chased after every tension, coaxing the muscles, torturously gentle, as Ishimaru forced himself to stay lax. When he gripped firmly around Ishimaru’s shoulders to push his thumbs in a little deeper, it was hard not to feel like he was being manhandled – the thought of which had his face flushing red all the way to his ears.

“nnf...”

He bit his tongue rather than let Makoto feel the way he nearly shuddered. The warm hands were up at each side of his neck again, making deep pulsing movements over the tendons in a way that meant he couldn’t hope to keep silent. Admittedly, Ishimaru knew he was a little over-sensitive, especially around his neck. He had just... never felt someone else touching him like this before. He hadn’t even thought to try it on himself. It was so intense...

“Ishimaru? You alright?” came Makoto’s voice, sounding pretty unaffected in comparison. He opened his mouth to speak.

“You can, um. You know, you can call me Ta- Taka... aah~”

Taka’s whole face felt so hot. The second the rather undignified noise left his throat he clenched his teeth shut, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him. There was no way Makoto hadn’t heard that – 

“Taka...” he repeated, his voice a low murmur. He said it calmly, but to Taka it felt so intimate. He couldn’t help to think to himself that it felt as though Makoto was testing how much it would take to fully break him, melt him into a puddle of bliss.

Perhaps he was right about that, as it was that exact moment that Makoto actually drove his fingers underneath his tank top, pulling the sides down over his shoulders in a way that exposed him even more, and the feeling of it had Taka jerking to cross his legs under the table and squeeze his thighs together tight, eyes glazed over with the overwhelming indecency of it. He let out a quiet, guttural whimper, aroused out of his poor mind by something so innocuous as a neck rub. It just felt like it went on for hours and hours...

“Ahem! This is a school announcement...” Both boys jumped at the sudden, grating sound of Monokuma’s voice over the television in the corner. Makoto startled slightly at the realisation he’d been rubbing Taka’s neck for over an hour. His hands cramped a little, but that slipped his mind as he stepped over to grab his notebook off the table and he actually noticed the state Ishimaru was in. 

He was slumped back in the chair, his face cherry red and wide-eyed. One of his hands was still white-knuckling the table edge – the other was held over his lap, awkwardly, and the tank top was still pulled down other both his shoulders like a weird dress, which he quickly moved to pull back up to normal. He picked up his pencil again, fiddling with it as he mumbled something about how ‘t-time flies’ with a breathy, forced chuckle. He couldn’t look Makoto in the eyes.

He couldn’t get up from his seat to show him out, either, which did strike Makoto as a little weird. He assumed he was probably tired; he’d studied all day, then had a nice relaxing massage, and he was probably waiting for Makoto to get out so he could get straight into bed. He still thanked Makoto for having spent time with him, albeit in an oddly quiet, shaky voice, and wished him a goodnight, which Makoto returned while slipping his shoes back on and starting out towards his own room for the night.

As soon as Makoto shut the door, Ishimaru let out another quiet groan. He had to stand up slowly and carefully – every muscle in him was tingling so intensely. He had never felt so utterly full of adrenaline from someone’s touch before. 

Undoing the fly of his trousers almost had his knees give out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> was gonna be a seperate fic in a series but who can be arsed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> constructive criticism wanted and needed - your boy's writing style is a hot mess

(Three or so days later)

Makoto usually liked to get to the dining hall along with the first few students to come in – mainly, this was because he liked a cup of orange juice in the morning, and Leon had an infuriating habit of glugging it straight from the carton that seemingly no-one could beat out of him.  
‘He probably considers it a punk thing,’ Makoto thought to himself as he carried his cup and his toast from the kitchen and looked for a place to sit. 

“Mornin’, Mondo... you’re up kinda early, huh?” 

He slipped into a chair across from the large figure of Mondo Owada, who he had grown to be much more comfortable around. It still felt a little funny to him, though, to address the most notorious gang leader in Japan so casually. Mondo just scratched lazily at his neck and laughed.

“Heh, yeah, well. Ishimaru’s taken it upon himself to wake me up every morning, and it’s easier if I just let him,” He replied, lifting a strong-smelling mug of coffee to his lips. “The dude runs on fuckin’ military time, I swear. Speak of the devil...” 

As if on cue, Ishimaru came strutting purposefully from the kitchen; he collected a few dirty dishes from around, already done with his own breakfast. He moved to take the plate of crumbs in front of Mondo, who grabbed the last bite of toast off it first. 

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem, Owada! Ah, and good morning Makoto! Did you sleep well?” 

Makoto gave an awkward smile in return.  
“Oh, yeah, fine I guess,” he returned, “but the beds here aren’t as nice as mine back home. I may have to '𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦' a little on myself sometime, ha ha...”

Ishimaru gave a short laugh, but turned away a little quickly. Mondo watched him walk briskly back into the kitchen with the plates, then looked back in confusion at Makoto.

“Practice?”

Makoto laughed again.   
“Oh, I have a little training in massage. I gave Ishimaru one a few days ago, he said his neck was hurting...” 

Now Mondo looked interested.  
“No way, you mean like you’re actually fuckin’ trained? Damn, I didn’t know you could even get training for that stuff. You gotta teach me how to do that sometime!”

Makoto was surprised at how enthusiastic he was; it was like his whole body had suddenly perked up. 

“Wait, really? I wouldn’t have thought you- I mean, I didn’t know you were interested in learning that...”

“Learning what?” Ishimaru pulled out a chair to sit with them, evidently done with his washing up.   
“You don’t mean-“

“Totally, man!” Mondo flashed his smile, his drowsiness having all but vanished. “I’ve always thought learning how to do massages was a good idea – you get tensed after a night on your ride, y’know, and Makoto said he’s gonna teach me how to do it!”

Makoto opened his mouth to protest that he never said that, but Mondo didn’t give him the chance.

“Taka, you’d let me practice on ya, right? It’ll be great, I promise I won’t be too rough on ya.” 

Ishimaru was trying to stammer out some kind of excuse, having turned quite red.

“Well – well I- I just –”

“𝘖𝘩, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯!"

All three of them turned as Byakuya practically sprinted into the room and slammed the door dramatically behind him - only for Toko to reopen it in the next second, clearly in pursuit again. Ishimaru looked at them, back to Mondo and Makoto, and then he was leaping at his chance to escape their conversation; he gave chase too, loudly chastising the both of them. 

Mondo just laughed, putting down his now empty mug.

“Fuck, Makoto, he could probably use it more than anyone here anyway. Dude is stuck up stiff as a board from that stick in his ass..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we'll see what else is stiff as a board in the next chapter, lmfao


End file.
